


My kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder

by Gorgeousgreymatter



Series: Always Female Stiles 'verse: I will run you like a thread [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Always Female Stiles Stilinski, Biting, But none actually occurs in this fic, Cis Female Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale is Bad at Feelings, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, Evolved Derek Hale, F/M, First Time Blow Jobs, Good Alpha Derek Hale, Idiots in Love, Mates Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Possessive Derek, Post-Season/Series 02 AU, Power Dynamics, Role Reversal, Rough Sex, Stiles makes Derek play a game of truth and he complains about it, and jokes, but he tries, feelings and porn, mentions of spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:35:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24248911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gorgeousgreymatter/pseuds/Gorgeousgreymatter
Summary: “I wanna play a game,” she says finally, watching her own fingertips as they fiddle with the line of buttons on his shirt. He's already trembling with the effort of just keeping still, and Stiles has a stray thought that maybe she might actually accidentally break him just from this.“Oh, goody,” Derek says dryly. “You know how I love games.”Or, an alternate summary:“Oh my god,” Stiles finally blurts out. “Stop freaking out. I just wanted to suck your dick, okay. Jesus christ.”
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: Always Female Stiles 'verse: I will run you like a thread [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1719364
Comments: 9
Kudos: 397





	My kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure how many installments there'll be in this series, but I can't seem to get these two out of my head, so who knows. As usual, everything is safe, sane, and consensual. Title is from Jeff Buckley's Lover, You Should Have Come Over. I always forget to include where my titles come from.
> 
> Also, forever unbeta-ed. SORRY
> 
> Please read and review if you feel so inclined. TYSM c:

My kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder

She thinks at first it was just a means to an end, a way to get information, maybe just a safe place to sleep where, for just a few hours, nobody was trying to shoot, torture, or maim him for once. Even back then when Stiles was about 94% sure that he hated her, she could look into Derek's eyes and see it, no matter how much he might try to hide: _fear_. She'd never say that to him, of course, but it was always there. Looking back, she wonders how much of it was fear of dying, or fear of her.

And Derek, he'd growl a little, crowd her up against the wall and flash those eyes of his and she'd give him whatever he wanted, whatever he needed, whatever he asked for because who the hell wouldn't, what with the teeth and the claws and the whole growl-y package. Then somehow, without either of them realizing it, pumping her for information became begrudging concern, because after all, somebody had to look after the lone, pitiful human of the pack, protect her from what went bump in the night. And then the excuses just seemed to fall flat after a while. Sleeping on the floor of her bedroom and lurking in dark corners somehow became sleeping in her bed, curled around her back with his mouth at her neck and his ridiculously long legs tangled up with hers. Since her mom died, Stiles had always struggled with insomnia and bad dreams, but with Derek next to her, it was better, It was easier. It wasn't perfect, it wasn't a cure, but instead of waking up with a dry mouth and a sore throat from screaming every night, more often than not, she woke with the scent of sandalwood and leather swirling in her nose and beard burn stinging her shoulder. She knows at the time, Derek would have probably let her actually cut off his arm for real before he ever admitted to _nuzzling_ her, but that's so totally what happened.

Stiles can't quite remember the exact moment though, that Derek's intrusive nighttime visits through her window went from completely unwanted (and not to mention, slightly terrifying), to something she... _craved_. Instead it seemed to creep up on her, slow and gradual, like she imagines it would for a drug addict just starting to get hooked. She just didn't realize how much of an addict she really was until she had to start waiting for the fix. She used to lie there in her bed night after night with her heart racing, fingers twitching nervously, and stare up at her dark ceiling just willing her ears to hear the scrape of her window being forced open. She used to lock it, but after a while, she just gave up and accepted the fact that her room had somehow become a freakin' halfway house for wayward werewolves. And there was no real point now, considering Derek would absolutely slaughter anyone (or anything) unwelcome and stupid enough to try to get in. Hell, she had a heck of a time convincing Derek not to claw her best friend on a daily basis. Stiles might be the Derek whisperer, but she isn't a miracle worker.

So, it's never her intention to outright torture Derek. It's just strange, and a little bit exhilarating, to have such an effect on someone like him. Because Stiles knows _she's_ a little fucked up, knows she's definitely an anxious control freak, but then she met _Derek_. Honestly for someone who turns into a literal wild animal on a regular basis, the dude's wound tighter than a two dollar watch. So forgive her for pushing him. Just a little.

“This isn't funny, Stiles,” Derek says. His eyebrow's doing that twitchy thing he does when he's annoyed with her, and the way he's got his arms crossed all disapprovingly just screams thoroughly unamused. “I just spent the last two hours at the station with your dad. Did you know he has a closet full of weapons that can kill me? Because I do, Stiles. Wanna know how I know? _Because he showed me all of them_.” Somehow Derek always manages to make her name sound like a threat. Or a swear word. Sometimes both.

Huh, she thinks irritably, though shockingly not at Derek. Argent must have really outdone himself, which is so going to be another argument entirely because yeah, her dad might know all about the whole werewolf thing now, but that doesn't mean she wants him going in guns blazing every time some kind of supernatural crisis comes up. “I just told you to talk,” Stiles says pointedly. “I didn't tell you to let him take you to a secondary location.”

“Oh yeah? And whose fault do you think it was that I had to do _that_?” Derek's eyes do the alpha flashy thing but there's no teeth or claws, so he's not ready to boil over...yet.

“I have no idea what you're talking about.” Stiles blushes. She's not sure why she's bothering to deny it considering they both know her poker face is nonexistent. God, having a nonhuman lie detector for a boyfri--christ, _fiance –_ could be a real drag sometimes.

And in her defense, it had seemed like a good idea at the time. Well, not a _good_ idea. But a fun one, although she might be having second thoughts, because Derek's looking at her like he wants to sink his teeth into her, or fuck her brains out. Maybe both. But it's okay, she's anticipated this, hence the mountain ash barrier around her bed, because if she's going to get the chance to actually have a conversation with him, she's gotta be able to slow him down somehow.

Because if he gets his hands on her, she's lost. When he touches her, Stiles can hardly remember her own name let alone retain any functions of higher thought. And she has needs, dammit. She has _demands_.

…

Derek had actually started the day with the tiniest shred of hope that his talk with the sheriff might not end up a total disaster like every other crazy-ass thing that always seems to happen to him around here did. Of course, he should have anticipated the Stiles factor in all of this, because it's Stiles, and she somehow manages to possess worse impulse control than most newly turned werewolves. So why wouldn't he have thought Stiles would be brazen enough to do something as reckless and stupid as fucking _get herself off in her bedroom,_ fuck herself with her fingers while Derek was downstairs in her living room trying to both simultaneously reassure Stiles's father that yes, he actually _did_ want to marry his daughter _(“You mean my eighteen-year-old daughter, Derek?”)_ , whether it was tomorrow or five years from now; and no, he didn't knock her up (which is something Derek can't even think too much about without going just a little bit embarrassingly feral). After that, it was convincing him not to shoot him in the chest (or the dick) with the wolfsbane bullets Derek _knows_ the man's got hidden in a pack of cigarettes in a cabinet next to the sink that Stiles absolutely doesn't know about (and would full-on have an embolism about if she discovered either one existed).

And he's not exactly sure what he expected to find when he climbed into Stiles's window, but it definitely wasn't this. It definitely wasn't Stiles sitting cross-legged in the middle of her bed like she hadn't just spent the afternoon torturing him with the scent of her leaking pussy, wearing an over-sized pair of pajamas, a ring of mountain ash surrounding her on the floor. There's a smirk on her face that could only be described as _devious._

“Oh, really?” Derek says, staring pointedly at the barrier laid out in front of him. “Is that why you put mountain-ash around the bed? To further prove your innocence?” Stiles's cheeks flush that pretty pink again, and for just one second, Derek forgets that he's mad at her, which only annoys him further.

“ _It's a negotiation tactic, Derek_ ,” Stiles stammers finally, hands twitching nervously in her lap. She might be playing calm and cool and collected, but Derek can smell her, a puzzling mix of arousal and nerves and excitement, and all it does is confuse him. “If I didn't have it,” she says, chin jutting out defiantly, “what would you be doing?”

Ha fucking ha. Derek knows, probably just as much as Stiles does, exactly what he would be doing if he could reach her, pull her into his arms and keep her there. What he's been itching to do since he smelled her only a few hours earlier and realized exactly just what she was doing when that honey-sweet scent of her slick filtered through the house. He had been forced to exercise a Herculean amount of restraint (in front of Stiles's freaking father, no less) not to just bolt up the stairs and fucking mount her, press Stiles against her childhood bed and fuck her until she couldn't even remember her own name. Because Derek is a bad man. No, he's a goddamn animal. Derek used to at least be able to _fake_ the illusion of control, but since he'd finally gotten the chance to taste Stiles, claim her for his own, he's gone so far off the reservation at this point that he's not quite sure where the line is anymore, and regardless of that fact, he's pretty sure he's already crossed it. “I'd be bending you over my knee and spanking some sense into you.”

Because this is, without a shadow of a doubt, Stiles's fault.

…

“Oh, _fuck_.” The last time he'd spanked her, Stiles had come just from that alone, from the sweet, hot sting of his palm striking against her ass, her skin singing at the contact, squeezing her thighs, desperate for friction. The flesh memory of it makes her shudder, and she can't help it, the whine that falls unbidden out of her mouth. She never can help it when it comes to Derek, so really the barrier is just as much for her as it is for him because already, just looking at him watching her, she wants to leap over that line of ash and climb him like a tree. But she's not going to.

She's going to have self control.

For once.

“That's why we're negotiating,” Stiles says quietly. She can hear her own voice voice go a little wobbly before adding, “but we–um, we should definitely revisit that thing that you suggested, you know, after...”

“I don't negotiate with terrorists.”

Stiles can feel her cheeks burning, but she soldiers on because embarrassing herself in front of Derek is nothing new. “Well it's time to wave the white flag of diplomacy, Derek, because I – I have some demands.”

Derek's arms are crossed still, and that vein in his jaw is starting to do that angry pulsing thing. “Stiles, what the fuck is going on? If you're not happy, if you don't want to go through with this—”

“Of course I wanna marry you, you idiot.” Stiles immediately feels guilty because she should have anticipated this, that Derek's mind would automatically go someplace bad because even though she's one hundred percent certain that she's never loved anyone as much as she loves him, that there's no possible way she could ever choose anyone else because he's like, ruined the entire human race for her. Hell, he's ruined _humans_ for her. Because he's definitely not perfect, but he somehow is for her, and he's hers and she's his, and the thought that he still might not see that breaks her heart more than just a little. “I just – I wanted to talk, er – ask you for something–.“ And really, this shouldn't be so difficult to get out considering how much sex they have. She's an adult, she's at least some-of-the-time mature, and if she's having all that sex then she really should be able to talk about it without completely losing her mind.

Seriously, sometimes Stiles wishes she could travel back in time to her sixteen-year-old self that was always despairing about being a lonely, pathetic virgin and tell herself _just you fucking wait_. Because if anything or anyone was worth the wait, it was Derek, and boy did that end up paying off in dividends. And orgasms.

“Baby, if I've done something you don't want – ” Derek's eyebrows are doing that thing where he's furrowing them so hard it looks like if he doesn't stop soon, his face might actually stick like that. Stiles can practically feel the stress headache building behind her eyes and she sighs, agitated. “Stiles, if I went too far, or I hurt you, you have to tell me, okay. I mean, I figured I'd be able to tell by scenting you, but – ”

And honestly, this might be the most she's ever heard Derek say at one time, and of course it's because he's worried and being all sensitive and noble and shit and that wasn't even what this was about at all in the first place and why can't she say what she means. “Oh my god,” Stiles finally blurts out. “Stop freaking out. I just wanted to suck your dick, okay. _Jesus christ._ ”

…

_I just wanted to suck your dick_.

Derek's pretty sure he can actually hear the neural pathways in his brain stutter and freeze as his entire thought process grinds to a screeching halt and he suddenly can't picture anything other than Stiles's plump, perfect mouth. “...Oh.”

“That sounded a lot better in my head. You know, _sexier_ ,” Stiles whispers with shock-wide eyes, her voice sounding far-away, sort of muffled and slightly bewildered. When his own vision finally comes back into focus, the wolf realizes that it's because she's hiding her face behind her hands, and she smells positively mortified. “And in my head, I definitely wasn't wearing my Yummy Sushi pajamas when I said it.”

“Um. You said _demands_.” As in plural. “Is that...all?”

“No. I also wanna be in charge. Not—not all the time. Just sometimes. This time.” Stiles is peeking at him through the gaps in her spread fingers, and she sounds kind of miserable, but at least she's still answering him. “You just never let me do anything for you, and I – I want to make you feel as good as you make me feel.”

“But you do make me feel good. You always do.” Derek cocks his head in confusion, blinking at her.

Stiles cheeks somehow flame even redder, but at least her hands are at her side now, balled into little, determined fists. Derek's fidgeting and it's even more irritating that he can't seem to stop, cracking his knuckles and grinding his teeth. All that mountain ash is cloying, and it's starting to feel a bit like he's choking on it. “You don't owe me anything, Stiles. I never want to take advantage of you.”

“God, Sourwolf, you can be such a blockhead sometimes.” Stiles takes a deep breath and groans, flopping back rather dramatically on the bed. “It's okay to be a little selfish,” she says, gazing up at her ceiling. “I promise, the world will most likely not end if you are.”

“I can be... I'm selfish with you sometimes.” Stiles huffs and raises her head just enough to glare at him. Derek's still trying to figure out how exactly she's turned this whole thing around on him when she was the one that started it. “And did you just call me a blockhead?”

“I don't know why you need someone to actually tell you this,” Stiles says, rolling on her stomach and resting her chin on her folded hands. She's talking to him with such exaggerated patience, like she's explaining something simple to a small child. “But giving your fiancée ten orgasms in a row before you even take off your pants is like the opposite of what selfish means.”

“I never know what you're talking about.” Derek shakes his head and sighs exasperatedly.

Stiles is sitting cross-legged again, and the way she's watching him feels a little bit like pity, which makes the wolf part of him bristle. “I just want you to trust me,” she says quietly and with that soft, secret smile that always makes him crazy.

There's a rumbling growl building in his throat, but he doesn't open his mouth at first, because honestly he's not quite sure what she wants him to say to that. It's been a long time since Derek's trusted anyone the way he does her. Pretty much after she'd held his paralyzed body up for hours, until her skinny little arms shook with exhaustion, when he would have bet his own life that her and every one of her little friends would have left him at the bottom of that pool to drown. After that, he was pretty much a goner. Stiles herself probably hadn't even realized it, that was the moment she'd caught him. Had him the way nobody else had in a long, long time. Maybe ever. Fuck, she probably doesn't even realize that the fact of the matter was, he'd give her anything she wanted and all she'd have to do was ask.

“It's not you that I don't trust.”

Stiles is up suddenly, and maybe he's really rubbing off on her, because Derek doesn't quite notice until she's standing there in front of him, that little line of ash the only thing keeping them separated. All he can hear now is her heart beating frantically in her chest. When Derek first met her, when she'd wandered onto his property that night, and later when she'd crawled into that cop car with him, he thought her heart was racing out of fear, that spike of adrenaline, but it's almost always like that. Maybe because of him, or maybe because that's just Stiles, he's not sure anymore. She meets his eyes head-on, and her gaze doesn't waver once as they both watch with rapt attention as her foot nudges through the circle and breaks it.

“ _T_ _ry_.”

…

When they get like this, Stiles has no problem going along for the ride. Is normally quite happy to let the big, bad alpha run the show, even when it feels like a lot of the time he might just kill her by making her beg, making her _wait_. When everybody who has ever known her knows that being patient is pretty much her kryptonite. She knows it makes no sense to Derek (“ _Why is the only time that you ever do what I say when I'm about to fuck you_?”), but it makes sense to her. Whatever, she's an enigma. She contains multitudes.

Derek really is trying, bless him. When she'd dragged him to the bed, he'd gone willingly, if not warily, and before she'd even made him lie down, he'd forced her to remake the barrier line which she hadn't understood at all, but since he was trusting her, she'd just nodded and done as he requested. When she'd finally asked, his mouth had set in that familiar hard line, and he was strangely quiet when he spoke next.

“No claws or fangs when I'm in here like this,” he murmurs, baring completely human teeth in a grimace and wiggling his noticeably still-human fingers in her direction.

 _I can't hurt you in here,_ is what he really means. Stiles never worries about that, but she knows that he does, way more often than he needs to in her opinion, and as much as those parts of him get her hot, if it makes him more comfortable with this, she's not going to refuse. Not when he's already giving her so much like this.

Like she refuses him anything anyway.

It really is a dizzying amount of power that courses through her now, sparking giddily under her skin because just looming over him like this, him on his back underneath her while she straddles his hips, it's not really a view she gets to see much of. And who knows when he'll be this generous again, so there's a lot to appreciate.

“I won't hurt you,” Stiles says softly, reaching up to press a palm gently against his stubbled cheek. “I promise.”

She feels that bitter chuckle he lets out when it vibrates through his chest. “You can't hurt me, Stiles.”

That's just not true, Stiles thinks, a little sad. He always says that, but sometimes she thinks he says it to convince himself just as much as he desperately wants her to believe it.

“I wanna play a game,” she says finally, watching her own fingertips as they fiddle with the line of buttons on his shirt. He's already trembling with the effort of just keeping still, and Stiles has a stray thought that maybe she might actually accidentally break him just from this.

“Oh, goody,” Derek says dryly. “You know how I love games.”

Stiles rolls her eyes, but leans down to press her lips gently and reassuringly against his cheek, smiling when she feels his beard hairs tickle her skin. “It's nothing bad. We're going to play truth. All you have to do is answer questions. And you don't even have to answer them if you don't want to. I'll let you pass. Just try.”

After all, just try was kind of the theme of the evening.

Derek snarls under his breath, and she sees his jaw spasm again, but thanks to the ash, no actual fangs make an appearance. Poor guy, it probably hurts, being forced to hold back like this. “Do I get something out of this?”

There's quite a lot Stiles thinks he's going to get out of this, but she knows he's stalling anyway, because Derek would probably honestly choose real and actual bloody physical torture over being forced to talk about himself in any sort of personal manner, but she'll play along.

“I'll let you do whatever you want to me next time.”

Derek snorts and Stiles humphs, because _rude_ , but at least Derek is the one smiling now. “That's what you promised me three days ago when you asked me to buy you an ice cream cone.”

 _Damn_. “Well,” she says loftily. “I guess I really mean it this time.” To be honest, she meant it the last time too and the way Derek's smirking at her now, he totally knows that, but Derek doesn't really need more evidence to the fact that that she's an insatiable slut when it comes to him. His stupid alpha-wolf ego is big enough already.

“Fine,” Derek grunts. “How many questions?”

Stiles thinks for a moment, tongue caught between her teeth, momentarily distracted because her fiance is hot, okay. Like stupid hot, and the worst part is he doesn't realize it or seem to care, which of course only makes it hotter. Bastard. She buys herself some time by unbuttoning the little plastic buttons of his shirt and pushing it open, both of them hissing when her palms slide over newly exposed flesh. All that muscle ripples beneath her palms, but she doesn't put enough pressure on him to make him flinch. It never gets any less shocking, just how hot is skin is under her hands. Sometimes it feels like he's gotta be literally burning from the inside out. Stiles learned pretty quick that blankets were not a thing she needed when sharing a bed with him unless her goal was to wake up soaked to the bone in her own sweat.

“How about ten?”

Derek side-eyes her. “Five.”

“Seven,” Stiles counters, leaning down to nuzzle (she's calling it _exactly_ what it is, okay) into that patch of hair in the center of his chest that's like, criminally soft. Derek goes rigid beneath her and Stiles swears that she hears a whine almost slip out of his mouth.

“Five,” he says again, between clenched teeth

“Okay,” Stiles says cheerily. “Five. And two follow-ups.” She doesn't even have to look up to know he's rolling his eyes.

“ _Such a brat_.”

“Yes,” Stiles agrees, pressing a kiss and a smile underneath his ribs that makes him shudder. “But I'm _your_ brat, and you love it.”

…

Fuck it, he does. He really does.

Derek can do this, he'll be fine. It's only fair, right? He can be fair. He can be fair and he's definitely not panicking. And Stiles is being so gentle with him, touching him like he might shatter if she does it wrong. Derek trusts Stiles. He does, he knows that, she knows that too. Why else would she have that look on her face, like what she’s doing requires every bit of her concentration and more. It might even be funny, how serious she looks right now, hovering over him, touching him with careful fingers. She’s not actively trying to torture him — he can tell, he knows what that feels like. “Stiles, can you—can you get on with it?”

“Okay,” she says, drawing haphazard circles over his stomach with her nails like she doesn't have a care in the world. “What's your favorite color?”

“Really?”

Stiles is the one rolling her eyes this time. “Just take the softball, Derek.”

“Fine. Green,” he spits out, unable to stop his hips from lurching off the bed when Stiles rolls her own against him.

“Favorite food?”

It's not easy for him like this. Every instinct is telling him flip them until she's pinned underneath him, the natural order of things. But he wants to give her this, he does, even if the wolf in him is fighting him every step of the way. Even if the questions she's asking seem absolutely pointless. Trying. He's trying.

“Bunnies,” Derek manages to huff out a laugh, baring his teeth at her even though the threat is somewhat diminished without the typical sharp points.

“Be serious, jerk,” Stiles says, leaning down to press an admonishing nip against his jawline. He is being serious, sort of. When he came back to Beacon Hills, it was easier to eat as the wolf, hide in the forest until he knew exactly what he was dealing with, but Stiles has made it known many times her feelings on the slaughter of woodland creatures.

“Anything fresh, I guess. Fruit's too sweet. Vegetables are good.”

“So what, your favorite food is salad or something?” Stiles says, chuckling. “You are _such_ an old man, I swear to god. Going to send off for your AARP membership as soon as we're done here.”

“I can taste all the chemicals in that processed shit,” he says weakly.

“Fair enough,” agrees Stiles. Her hands skate over his chest again, playing in the rungs of his rib-cage and it shouldn't be as disorienting as it actually is, but there's no point in trying to fight it anymore. “What's in the Hale vault?”

“What?” Derek rasps, and this time he can't hide the moan that manage to find its way out when he feels her tongue sliding wetly under the waistband of his jeans. Such a goddamn _tease_. He wants to bury his fingers in her the hair that's falling like a waterfall across his chest but she told him he had to keep his hands to himself and he's clenching them so tightly right now he wonders if he'll accidentally break them.

“I heard you telling my Dad about it. When he asked how you were going to _provide_ for me,” Stiles says that with enough disdain that Derek can tell she's more than far from pleased about that part of their conversation. It wasn't actually the most feminist of questions, so Derek kinda gets why she's pissed.

“It's my family's vault. Under the school.”

“There's a vault under the school?” Stiles looks up from the bone of his hip she's been mouthing at with a look of peaked interest.

“Wasn't always a school,” Derek grits. “Family heirlooms, manuscripts, dark objects, random artifacts....and 117 million dollars in bearer bonds.”

Stiles sits back on her heels for a moment and just stares at him in complete and utter shock. “If you had 117 million dollars, why the hell did you spend the last two years sleeping in an abandoned train car? You could have slept in an actual bed. A really fucking nice one.”

“Is that a follow-up question?”

Stiles nods, eyes wide, and Derek actually laughs and means it. “I did sleep in a bed. Yours.”

“ _Seriously_.”

“Seriously,” Derek repeats. “Didn't think I'd live long enough for it to matter, anyway.”

Stiles sighs and shakes her head, pressing a heartbreakingly gentle kiss right beneath his belly button. Derek has to bite his lip to stifle the gasp. He wonders if this is what she feels like every time she's trapped underneath him, every nerve ending on high alert, rapid fire. It feels like he's gonna explode.

“What do you like to do for fun?” Stiles asks, fiddling with the button on his jeans before sliding the zipper down. It's the loudest sound he thinks he's ever heard and it sends a shudder down his spine that normally precedes the shift, but it doesn't come, so it lingers in a way that kind of hurts. “I mean, I know what you do now,” she says, with an exaggerated wiggle of her eyebrows and a smirk on her lips that makes Derek want to grab them between his teeth and suck. “I mean, before all this...”

It's been a long time since he's thought about that, does his best not to most of the time. Because it feels like that time is part of a life that doesn't belong to him, maybe never did. That belongs to a different person altogether because if he thinks too hard about it, it doesn't even feel real, like it even happened. “I used to draw a lot. My father was an artist,” Derek murmurs quietly. When he manages to tear his eyes away from the wall and actually look at her, she's watching him, soft and quiet and serious, no teasing at all in her expression. “I played a lot of sports. Basketball, soccer. But I loved baseball the most. Still do. Taught Cora how to throw a pitch when she was seven. Threw it so hard she broke my hand.”

Stiles smirks and shakes her head, wrinkling her nose. “Baseball? My dad likes baseball.”

“Maybe don't mention your dad right now, Stiles.”

“Right...right.”

…

He really is being so good for her, Stiles thinks, answering all her questions with a shockingly minimal amount of whining on his part. She leans back slightly, reaching behind her to slide her hand over his denim-clad knee. Every movement is slow, calculated, carefully considered.

“Tell me something good. A happy memory. From before.”

“That's not a question,” Derek says, and she could swear on her life that he's actually pouting.

“Okay, Alex. _What is, tell me something happy from your childhood?"_

Derek's eyes are wrenched shut now, and Stiles has a sneaking suspicion that if he opened them, they'd be red as garnets. His hands are twisted in the sheets at his side, because she's already slapped them away a couple of times when they searched for familiar purchase on her hips. It's almost strange to see right now, the lack of teeth and claws when he's obviously struggling with his control. Right now she could almost pretend he's human.

Almost.

He hasn't passed on a question yet, and if he's going to do it at all, it'll probably be now. Breaking him isn't something she wants to do. She watches him, doesn't take her eyes off of his as she lets her hand slide up, inch by painstaking inch. If something's wrong she'll see it before he can say it and she can stop before she traumatizes him or something.

“My father was the only one in the house who could cook. My mother and Laura tried to make me a birthday cake once when I was thirteen. They forgot to add the sugar. And the eggs. We all ate it anyway because Laura had a temper and it wasn't worth the fight.” Derek takes a deep breath like he's steadying himself. She doesn't blame him. “My little sister, Claire, she puked all over Peter. It was a good birthday.”

Stiles is so still she's not even sure she's breathing, because she's kind of afraid if she does, she might ruin this. It isn't often he lets her in this far, this deep, and there's no way she's going to do something to make him think he shouldn't. To make him regret it. “That sounds nice,” she says, and reaches for one of his hands and entwines it with hers, rubbing her thumb over the pulse point she can feel thrumming, remarkably steady, all things considered.

For a long, stretched moment of silence, all she can hear is their breathing.

“It's okay, Stiles. You can ask,” Derek finally says, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. “I'm not going to break.”

Stiles nods and offers him a soft smile. “So...how many did you have? Siblings, I mean.” There's probably at least a million more questions she wants to ask him, but she doesn't want to push too hard. Not tonight, not when he's already taking the knife and cutting himself open for her, even if it's just a little bit. Spilt blood is spilt blood, even if it's only a drop.

“Four sisters – Laura, Cora, and the twins. Claire and Emma. I had a baby brother, too. Jamie. He and Claire were human, and so was my father.”

Yeah, so she's definitely got questions about that, because _werewolf genetics_ is clearly a thing that warrants discussing. But not now. Not tonight. And just hearing Derek talk about this, it brings a fresh wave of fury to her gut when she thinks about everything he's lost and why. If they ever see Kate again, Stiles isn't sure she won't be the one to knife that bitch, she thinks, unable to quell the little growl building in the back of her throat. God, he really has rubbed off on her.

“One more,” Derek prompts gently, and Stiles nods, leaning down to claim his mouth in a long, lingering kiss, sucking on his bottom lip before pulling back with an audible pop . He tastes as good as he always does. Like the forest heated up with the sun, and black coffee, and toothpaste and just _Derek_. When she pulls back, Derek's eyes are definitely blazing red and yeah, she's proud of herself, just a little. Whatever, she's in charge. She's allowed to be.

Stiles had another question all ready to go, but the way Derek's looking at her, like she's the only real thing in front of him, this is what actually comes out. “Why me?”

…

Derek remembers how close Stiles always watched him when their positions were reversed. Propped up on her elbows like she was afraid to miss something. And how her eyes would squeeze shut on occasion like she was just too overwhelmed and couldn't bring herself to look anymore. He gets that too. Because right now, both urges are warring in him when she chases his tongue, when her teeth sting hot against his mouth. He doesn't want to miss anything, but what if it's too much?

Thankfully ,blissfully, the interrogation is almost over and he's made it through largely unscathed. Honestly he's expecting another question about _them_ , his family, but that's not what happens. When he opens his eyes, Stiles is staring at him, all nervous and shy again and it takes him a moment to understand why. What she means exactly.

“Why'd you pick me?”

Derek wants to laugh because no question has ever seemed more ridiculous. “Have you _seen_ you?” It's not just that, though. She's fucking beautiful, but she's also the smartest person he's ever met, and the cleverest, possibly the bravest, with a mouth that could send any man to his knees.

Stiles lets out a derisive, disbelieving snort. “This coming from the guy whose six pack has its very own six pack,” which she pokes at pointedly with her index finger.

He grins, but it's mostly sympathetic. “Wouldn't be a very good apex predator if I didn't.”

She's tracing all those ridges across his abdomen and it tickles almost as much as it sends a wave of heat rushing southward. They've hardly done anything except talk, but there's still a thin layer of sweat on his skin like he's exhausted himself. Kind of feels like he has.

“And if that were true, I probably would've had at least one date before you, don't you think?”

Derek can't quite meet her eyes because he may or may not have been partially responsible for that, and the snarl he has to bite back at the thought of anyone else laying a hand on her should be clue enough. Of course, he can never hide anything from her either, so when her eyes narrow all suspiciously in his direction, he breaks easy.

“You don't know what it was like. It was bad enough smelling Scott on you all the time. Having to smell all those stupid, idiot teammates all over you was worse. Do you know how many of those prepubescent assholes wanted to fuck you?”

Stiles lets out a sputtering squeak. “What the hell are you talking about? Did you seriously threaten a bunch of sixteen-year-olds so they wouldn't touch me?”

“Not exactly,” Derek says evenly, staring pointedly at the bedspread and not her. “ I just--used my scent...marked you, made it clear to even their puny little human noses that it'd be best to stay away.”

Her hands are on her hips now and she's glowering at him. “Is that why you were always crowding me up against those walls and jamming your face into my neck?”

Derek feels his ears grow hot. It's not his proudest moment, honestly. “Maybe. Also liked watching you squirm.”

She doesn't smell mad, and she's laughing a little as she shakes her head. “Have I ever told you what an idiot you are.”

“Not in the last forty-five minutes,” Derek grins lazily back at her. “So, I answered your questions.”

Stiles nods. “That's true.”

And he's not whining, not at all, when he opens his mouth next. “So, kiss me.”

…

Stiles is laughing again, because Derek is ridiculous as usual, but she can't even bring herself to be that upset because even though he sounds sorry, she can also tell that he's somehow both proud and apologetic for terrorizing her high school lacrosse team. “That sounds like an order,” she says, sticking out her tongue and crossing her arms.

Derek whines for real now, and she can tell how much his struggling because even though there's no danger of claws inside the barrier, she can hear the slight ripping sound of her threadbare sheets starting to separate in his hands. “ _Please_.”

She beams. She can't remember the last time she actually heard that word come out of his mouth, and fuck, it is exhilarating. “I guess you have been good for me,” she murmurs _,_ before letting her hair fall around his face like a silk curtain before crushing her mouth against his. The first time Derek had kissed her hard, like this, it had felt like he'd sucked the breath out of her lungs. Somehow each kiss with him is just as jarring as the first, and like always, she loses herself in the slide of his tongue against hers, can't stop the moan that slips out when he pulls away from her mouth to nip at her jaw and her throat, little bites with his blunt teeth that still manage to sting.

“So good at that,” Stiles sighs, unable to stop from leaning into his lips. “But it's still _my turn_.” God, she wants him to touch her and it's so annoying because how selfish would that be when he's giving her this rare chance to take control. She'd be crazy to waste it.

All she sees looking back at her is red. Yeah, even like this, she realizes now, there's no fucking way he could pass for human. Even though she knows that he does, which boggles her mind that people could be so goddamn clueless in this town.

 _“Stiles, please_.”

There it is again, that word that brings her rushing back. For the first time she notices that familiar, crippling heat between her legs that flares whenever he says her name like that. Like a prayer and a curse all at once. He's so hard underneath her, and that fact alone, that it's all _her_ that's done that to him. It's a heady sort of power she's courting.

She's sweating almost as much as he is, she realizes, and with one hand sliding slow and steady, she frees his cock from his jeans and hastily undoes the buttons of her pajama shirt with the other. Derek's eyes flash again and she shivers the same way she always does whenever he looks at her, like he's seeing her naked for the first time even though it might as well be the thousandth. “So beautiful,” he groans, and the red disappears when he slams his eyes shut again and arches off the bed when she squeezes him.

“Not like you.”

She's never actually done this before. And she's not scared or anything. In fact her mouth's pretty much watering at the thought of tasting him, but there's a split second of hesitation on her part only because _she's never done this before_. “I—might be bad at it,” she whispers, so softly under her breath nobody but Derek would ever be able to hear her.

“Baby,” Derek says, and even though there's no physical evidence of the shift, she recognizes the tone in his voice and it's rough and deep and all wolf. It scrapes against her skin the same way his stubble does, sends that same familiar ache pulsing through her cunt. “I don't think that's possible.”

She's not going to give either one of them the chance to overthink it, pumping the length of him with her small hand before licking her lips, leaning forward, and taking him into her mouth. She's been waiting for this for so long, and it's so incredibly satisfying to feel him against her tongue, so thick and smooth, the skin surprisingly soft. Either way, she actually whimpers because it tastes _good_. This time she actually hears it, Derek cracking his fingers next to her head to keep from grabbing at her hair. It sounds like he might've actually broken a few of them. Nothing would surprise her at this point.

He tastes good here too, salty but clean, with that same weird sun-soaked scent that always clings to him. Maybe it's whatever weird magic that makes him turn, or maybe it's just Derek. He's too long to take entirely in her mouth, so she wraps her other hand around the rest of him and works him gently along with each flicker of her tongue, each experimental suck, each bob of her head.

If she could, she'd tell him how fucking gorgeous he looks right now. The tip of his cock hits the back of her throat and he throws his head back so hard against the mattress that she hears the bed frame creak and shudder. Wouldn't be the first time they've broken a bed, but it would definitely be the most impressive way they've managed to do it.

Derek is shaking so hard underneath her, she actually looks up just to make sure he's okay. She would've given him one of those smiles she saves just to reassure him, but considering her mouth is otherwise occupied, she does her best to soothe him with her eyes, willing him to look at her.

…

It takes every bit of restraint to not immediately fuck up into her mouth when she takes all of him into her throat and sucks. His heart is thundering in his own chest so loudly she's got to be able to hear it. He can feel his fangs stuck in his jaw, and it aches, but maybe that's partly because he's clenching his teeth so tightly he's surprised they don't chip off in his mouth. That he doesn't accidentally bite off his own goddamn tongue. The ash makes everything feel like too much as it is, like he's too big for his body, like his clothes are too tight.

Coupled with her mouth he feels prime to go off like a fucking bomb.  
And she's wet. His senses might be a little bit dulled, but he'll always be able to tell. If she wasn't wearing those pajamas, he'd bet every fucking thing in that vault that her panties are soaked straight through. “ _Jesusfuck, Stiles,”_ he hisses. Another string of nonsense and obscenities trickles out of his mouth, but it doesn't seem to bother Stiles, who's still sucking him down in earnest, gazing up at him with bright, clear eyes, through those sinfully thick lashes.

It feels like it might never end, the wet, hot cavern of her mouth engulfing him. The sweetest, cruelest torture. Then, when his hand flies to her hip, so fast it doesn't even feel like it's attached to his body, and she pulls off him so suddenly he could almost cry.

“ _Not yet_ ,” she chides _,_ and he doesn't even get a chance to protest before she's sucking him down again.

He can feel it building, that tingle in his spine, the way his chest is heaving wildly and uncontrolled. He's so, so close but he doesn't want to come like this. Wants to be buried inside her the way he always wants to be, sink his teeth into her shoulder while he has the rare chance to without any consequence.

“'wanna come _in you_ ,” He manages to spit out, slurring and desperate.

Stiles stops again, and when she pulls off of him this time, her lips are slick with spit and he almost loses his goddamn mind watching her flick her tongue and lick up that clear, sticky fluid that drips onto her chin. God damnit she really is trying to fucking kill him.

“Okay,” she says, and it's really goddamn evil how sweet she sounds, giving him one of those shy grins like she isn't about to impale herself on his hard cock.

Though the noise she makes when she finally does, when she yanks off her pajama bottoms, not even bothering to fully take off her underwear. Just pushes it aside and takes him, that's anything _but_ sweet.

“Oh my god, Derek. _Holy fuck.”_

…

She's never taken him like this before, on top. Because he's not small, and like this, he somehow feels even bigger, if that's possible. Like he might just bust through all the way to her belly, _christ,_ if they aren't careful. It burns a little, the stretch, but it's nothing compared to how fucking full she feels. Her breath hitches and stutters when the head of him drags against her walls and she whines, long and high and _needy_. He always makes her feel like this. So greedy even when she's getting everything she wants. She just wants more. More, and more of him. Always and forever.

“It's too much,” she whimpers, her own eyes clamped shut as she grinds on top of him, her hips rocking like she's riding a wave that's too big, choppy and rough.

“Let me touch you,” Derek all but snarls, and when she opens her eyes, his face is inches from hers and she can literally smell it, the wildness on him, the animal. Like ozone, like the air right before a lightning strike hits.

Stiles can't even make herself form the words at this point. Her tongue feels useless, tears pricking at the corner of her eyes, so all she can do is nod frantically.

It's such a relief when she finally feels his hands, big and broad, the tips of his blunt nails digging into her thighs. After that she just lets go, lets him take it back, all that power, when he grabs her hips and lifts her up and slams her back down on his cock, again and again and again.

Her fingers are in his hair, and she knows she's yanking on the strands way too hard, but she doesn't care, doesn't loosen her hold a bit as he fucks himself with her body.

It hits her so sudden, her orgasm, with no buildup that she doesn't even realize she's coming until it happens. It tears through her so hard she shrieks, slamming her forehead against his chest so hard that she's worried she's knocked herself out when her vision blacks, just for a second. It comes back though, and suddenly she's panting, gasping against his mouth as he thrusts up into her with ceaseless fury.

His head is thrown back and all she can seem to focus on now is that tendon straining in his neck. Everything seems to go quiet around her right before she does it, does it without even thinking. Rears back and bites into his throat.

Derek roars so loud the walls shake, and then she feels it, that hot spurt inside of her as he comes. It feels never ending, feels like he's flooding her with it, and all she can do is hang on, digging her nails into his scalp the same way she's got her teeth in him.

When he finally stops shaking and shuddering underneath her, she lifts her heavy head from her shoulder and watches, spellbound, as the reddish-white mark she's left heals right in front of her and suddenly it's like never even happened at all. She's surprised how disappointed that makes her.

“It didn't stay like yours do,” she mumbles, okay, _pouts_ , and she nuzzles into the skin there, hiding her face.

Derek's stroking her hair now, her back, soft, soothing touches. He's always so careful with her, after. So sweet, how could she ever want anything but this?

She's not sure he actually heard her, because he doesn't say anything. She listens as his breathing settles down and quiets, along with hers.

“Yes it did,” Derek finally whispers against her hair. “You just can't see it. “ But he can feel it, Stiles thinks. He must.

Forever, forever, forever, is the last thought she has before she falls asleep right there on top of him, cum spilling down her bare legs, Derek's arms wrapped around her, safe and strong and always hers.

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone cares to see what Stiles's pajamas look like, I will include a link. Buffy wore them in season 4 of BtVS and it seemed apropos to include an homage to my favorite series lol
> 
> https://travellinginheels.files.wordpress.com/2012/06/414goodbey_106.jpg


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